Everything and Nothing
by CamsthiSky
Summary: Damian has a hard time dealing with Dick's death. Luckily, Tim's there to help him through it.


**timdrakeothy asked: 5. "You're everything to me, yet I'm nothing to you." And 16. "No. Don't you dare shut me out!" Tim and Damian? Your pick of who says what 3**

 **Anonymous asked: Hello yes, for the angst prompts I love them all and can't choose one, so you pick whichever one you like best for Tim and Damian, or Jason and Damian. With Damian being the sad angsty one.**

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Damian is dying.

Well, not literally, but it certainly feels that way. Because as much as his physical body is alright now, there's some part of him that didn't come back to life with him. It's the part of him that he's sure is stuck with Grayson in the afterlife somewhere.

There's a knock on his bedroom door, and Drake peeks in, a solemn expression on his face. Damian knows that his family members are trying to give him space to grieve, but then they check in on him, too. Like he _needs_ to be checked on. He's not fine, he's grieving yes, but that doesn't mean he'll do something reckless.

All he wishes for is to be alone.

"Go away," he tells Drake, but the words are said to the ceiling instead of the person, because he doesn't know what will happen if he gives Drake his full attention. Will his mind unravel at the slightest shift in attention away from the gaping parts of his soul? Will his carefully retrained emotions be brought to the surface?

"Damian," Drake says uncertainly.

"I said go away."

"I just want to talk."

Damian wants to huff a breath of irritation, but he can't manage to make himself do it. Instead he just sits up from the bed and glares at the floor. "About what?"

"About—About Dick," Drake says, sitting down next to him on the bed. "The rest of us have had longer to accept it, and I know this is exactly what you don't want to talk about, but it—it could help. It helped me."

"Who did you talk to?" Damian can't help but ask, because he's noticed that Drake's been—not normal, but he hasn't been sulking around like Damian has, or even locking himself away like Father. He's been going about his life, motivated and—perhaps a bit sad, but not anything like Damian has been feeling. Not empty.

"Kon and Bart, mostly," Drake answers. "But, Bruce helped some, too."

"I don't want to talk," Damian says before he can really think about it.

"No!" Drake yells, leaning forward. "No, Damian, don't you dare shut me out. Not for this."

Damian slumps forward, his expression screwing up. He hadn't known it before, but now that someone is _asking_ him to talk, Damian finally feels like maybe he can let a little bit of it out. It's what Grayson would have tried to get him to do, and that makes it just a bit easier, too.

"I miss him," Damian says, making sure his voice doesn't waver. "Sometimes I forget he's not here anymore."

Drake nods, his expression mirroring Damian's. "Me, too. But, Dick's always looked out for us, you know? He wouldn't want us to be sad all the time, I don't think."

"He was everything to me," Damian admits, covering his face with his hands. " _Everything,_ Drake. We were partners. We were the _best._ And then, to find out I mean so little—that I mean _nothing_ to him—"

Damian cuts himself off. He can't go on. He can't say anymore for fear of losing himself altogether.

"You know," Drake says, and it's slow and contemplative, but Damian still can't make himself look at anything besides the dark beneath his hand. "I don't think you actually heard the story of how Dick died yet, did you?"

Damian shakes his head. "The gravestone was enough," he whispers.

Drake sighs. "I don't think it is. You should hear what he did—how brave he was. He was captured, you see. And—And unmasked. And the entire time they were showing the feed, I didn't see him waver even once."

And so Damian hears the story of how Richard Grayson was captured, unmasked, and killed, and how when Batman had got to him, it was too late. Hearing it doesn't make him feel any better, though, and Damian doesn't understand why, when Drake stops talking, he'd had to listen to something like that.

"I don't understand why you're telling this to me, now," Damian says, a part of him angry, but another part just—sad. He's sad. "It's over with."

"Maybe," Drake says, and he doesn't sound so unaffected anymore. "But you said that you meant nothing to Dick. Did Dick mean nothing to you when you died?"

Damian drops his hand and meets Drake's gaze in his outrage. "Of course not!"

"Then why is it any different for Dick?" Drake asks, eyes steady and dry. "Dick loved all of us. He died, yeah, but that doesn't—that doesn't mean he doesn't love us anymore, okay? It doesn't mean he doesn't love you or me or Jason or Bruce or Alfred or _anybody_ else. It just means that Dick died. That's it."

Damian doesn't say anything. He can't say anything. His eyes are burning, and after days of wallowing in grief and emptiness, he won't admit it, but it's such a _relief_ to hear someone—even if it's Drake—tell him that he's wrong. That Grayson _did_ care for him. That those infected thoughts are baseless.

"Damian?" Drake asks softly, sounding uncertain, and Damian grabs onto Drake's sleeve before he can pull away.

"Will you—will you stay?" Damian asks, refusing to look Drake in the eye. "Just for a few minutes. I…I don't think I can be alone at the moment."

Damian doesn't have to be looking to hear the sad smile in Drake's voice, though, when Drake says, "Sure, Damian. As long as you need me to."


End file.
